


I Could Kiss You Under Water

by dizzzylu



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen needs a little TLC after an afternoon slaving away in the yard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Kiss You Under Water

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to 13chapters for the beta, especially since J/M isn't exactly her 'ship (there's a better thanks coming later, bb ;)) Also, thanks to annundriel and perfumaniac for help with the ending. Their suggestion made it another ~2500 words longer, so y'all should thank them, too ;D

Jensen isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting in the tub when he hears Misha walk into the house, calling Jensen’s name. All he knows is the tub is still cool against his heated skin, and that Misha’s going to enjoy laughing at the way Jensen’s half-in, half-out of the tub, shorts still tangled around his ankles. Which is why Jensen stays as silent as possible.

It’s pointless, though. Misha eventually finds Jensen, and has an arm wrapped around his own stomach as he laughs. “This is truly pathetic,” Misha finally manages to say, still chuckling.

Jensen attempts a glare, but Misha’s fresh round of laughing proves he misses the mark by a wide margin. Misha takes pity on him anyway, and helps Jensen get his shorts off. “Tell me you didn’t hit your head, at least?”

“Of course not,” Jensen replies, sulking. With his feet free, he swings his legs into the tub, sighing when they finally hit the cool cast iron. He mumbles, “I might’ve jammed my finger, though,” when Misha starts the water.

Misha gives Jensen another once-over, taking in the sweat-soaked hair plastered to Jensen’s head, the flakes of dark green over his chest and arms, the dust and dirt turning tan legs brown. He arches his brows at Jensen, motions at the black boxer briefs Jensen couldn’t manage to peel off. “On or off?”

Jensen looks at him through slitted eyes. “As long as you don’t expect me to move, they can come off.”

Misha smirks. Before plugging the tub, he takes the shower head and rinses Jensen off so he won’t be sitting in filthy water, then heads back into the bedroom for clean clothes, stripping his own shirt and shorts off along the way. Normally, Jensen wouldn’t be able to stop from watching the sinuous way Misha moves, even when he’s not trying, but his eyelids are heavy, just like the rest of his limbs, and the lukewarm water is crawling up his chest. He sighs heavily, sinking lower into the water so he can use his foot to turn the faucet off.

With the water off, the house is blessedly silent, not even Misha making any noise. Jensen revels in it, head still throbbing from the sun and the roar of the lawn mower. Eventually, there is the quiet slap of bare feet on tile, and then Misha’s sitting on the edge of the tub behind him, a leg on either side.

Misha’s palm is a gentle pressure on Jensen’s head, and he hears a quiet "dunk" from behind him. He pinches his nose and does so, stays there for a moment and lets the water dull his senses. When he surfaces, Misha guides him to sit up, hands under Jensen’s arms. Something cool oozes over Jensen’s scalp and Misha’s fingers are there, massaging.

Jensen smells peppermint; a gag gift at Christmastime from his brother. Misha fell in love with it instead and has been using it ever since. Shampoo is shampoo is shampoo, in Jensen’s opinion, but he can’t deny he likes the cool, tingling sensation it creates. Had he known, he might’ve started using it sooner.

(Mackenzie, on the other hand, had gotten Jensen cinnamon roll-scented bubble bath that reminds Jensen of his mama's baking. He knows Misha knows he uses it, especially at the end of extra-rough stunt work days, but Jensen's not stupid enough to leave it out in the open. Misha's a little too camera-happy with his iPhone and Jensen's 90% sure Misha's not above Twitter-based blackmail to get what he wants)

Misha’s fingers are firm, his thumbs digging into the tender spots behind Jensen’s ears. He’s more massaging Jensen’s scalp than washing his hair, and it creates delicious little shivers all the way down to his toes. Jensen absolutely doesn’t purr when Misha scrapes his nails against the soft skin, dragging them from forehead to the nape of Jensen’s neck, slow and sharp. The steady press and rub of Misha’s fingertips makes Jensen's skin come alive, despite his exhaustion, and the buzz helps soothe his headache.

The fingers slip down, kneading at Jensen’s neck in growing circles. The pressure is tough but relaxing, helping to melt the little knots of tension from the muscles. Jensen finds it harder and harder to hold his head up, can only sort of prop it up against Misha’s knee to prevent himself from drowning.

That’s when Misha stops and asks Jensen to dunk again. Jensen barely manages to hold his breath long enough to scrub the suds out of his hair before he surfaces again, gulping for air. As if the that little bit of exertion was the straw that broke the camel’s back, he lays limp against the tub, his head tilted back into Misha’s groin.

He makes a small sound of protest when Misha leaves, but can’t be bothered to try and make him stay. When Misha unplugs the tub, Jensen flails a leg in his direction, not even bothering to pretend he expected to hit anything. Misha runs the water, a little warmer this time, and waits. When it’s as high as he wants it, he slips into the tub behind Jensen, awkwardly trying to manhandle his slick body into position: ass snug in the cradle of Misha’s thighs, head lolling back on Misha’s shoulder.

Despite the warmer water, Jensen still feels cool and relaxed, even turns his head to press a line of kisses to the sharp edge of Misha’s jaw. His hands rest on Misha’s thighs, the thumb of one sweeping over the soft skin behind the knee. Jensen can tell he’s probably been in the bath too long, the pads of his fingers already feel dull and wrinkly, but he can’t move. Doesn’t _want_ to move. Not with Misha’s hand splayed low on his belly, the tips of his pinky and ring fingers dipping below the waistband of Jensen’s boxers. Misha’s other hand is back on Jensen’s scalp, alternating between the sharp scrape of fingernails and the soothing pressure of gentle fingertips.

The quiet stretches out like salt water taffy, the silence marred only by the occasional drop of water and the beat of their hearts. Minutes, hours, day later (Jensen doesn’t know, doesn’t _care_ , which), Misha tries to shift. But Jensen’s a rag doll, all long limbs and dead weight, and he feels Misha shaking behind him, chuckling. Despite Jensen's weakness, or maybe because of it, Misha manages to rearrange Jensen and make himself more comfortable, too. After, Jensen’s position is more relaxed, with his head lower on Misha’s shoulder, taking the stress off his neck. It puts Misha’s mouth right above his ear, though, and his voice sounds even rougher than usual when he says, “I could get used to you like this.” His hand is back on Jensen’s belly, his thumb stroking against the grain of the hair that disappears into Jensen's boxers.

Miraculously, Jensen manages to shift, trying to get away from Misha’s touch. Away from the sparks it ignites. As with most things in life, though, Misha is relentless. His hand doesn’t stray, and when Jensen turns his face and rests his forehead against Misha’s neck and whispers, “ _please_ ,” Misha uses the other to gently tug Jensen’s hair, angling his head back, and leans down for a kiss.

It's not what Jensen was asking for, he doesn't think (he's not really sure _what_ he meant), and it’s slow and slick, their lips damp in the humidity of the bathroom. Misha uses quick swipes of his tongue to wipe it away, licks at him until Jensen gasps, lips parting. His tongue is soft but clever, sleek as it tangles with Jensen’s, over his teeth, against the roof of Jensen’s mouth.

Jensen only has enough energy to wrap his fingers around Misha’s wrist, an attempt to stop him from slipping his hand into Jensen’s boxers. But Misha shushes him when he whimpers, whispers, “Just let me” against Jensen’s temple. And Jensen, half-hard already just from the kissing and petting, doesn’t have the strength to say no. Lets his hand fall away with a twist of Misha's wrist.

Misha takes his time, his movements small, subtle. A thumb hooked in the back of Jensen’s boxers to tug them over the swell of his ass. A palm smoothed over his ribs to settle him when he tries to shimmy out. Slim fingers sliding down his thighs, pushing at wet cotton, kneading quivering muscles.

When they’re far enough down that he can’t reach them, Misha uses a foot to get them the rest of the way. Jensen watches them float for a moment, almost hypnotized by how they rock with the movement of the water. Then Misha’s palm is on his face, turning it in for another kiss. It’s just as sweet at the first, more Misha sucking at his lips than anything, but it distracts Jensen enough for it to be a shock when Misha wraps cool fingers around the base of his cock.

Jensen stutter-gasps against Misha’s mouth, hands tightening on Misha’s thighs when Misha gives him a long, lazy stroke up and down. His grip is loose, just tight enough to create a little bit of friction. Jensen rolls his hips and his whole body follows, a series of twitches from his shoulders all the way down to his toes. Misha gentles him, breath warm in his ear, palm flat on his chest. He strokes again, flicks at a nipple when he thumbs over the head of Jensen’s cock. Jensen grounds out a quiet _shit_ between clenched teeth, his legs shift, restless.

Misha sets a relaxed rhythm, interrupting the easy friction with the occasional squeeze or drag of nails. Occasionally, he tweaks a nipple, pinching it between thumb and forefinger. Jensen can feel Misha’s smile against his shoulder when Jensen jerks into the touch.

The best and worst thing about Misha is that he knows Jensen. Knows how he takes his coffee, how to handle him when he gets cranky, how to cook his mama's chicken noodle soup when he's sick. But he also knows where Jensen's most ticklish spot is (a secret he has, thankfully, never shared with Jared), where to kiss and lick and bite to drive Jensen insane, how to get Jensen off quick and dirty if need be. But worst of all, Misha knows how to pull Jensen apart, piece by piece until all that's left is a quivering mess on the bed. Or couch. Or, sometimes, the floor.

This last is what he's doing now; his hand maddeningly slow and his touch light. The familiar tingling starts in the base of Jensen's spine, but doesn't grow. Merely sits there, aching for more. A swipe of Misha's thumb over the head, maybe the pad of it circling around the slit. Even him palming Jensen's balls would help.

But Misha doesn't change his pace, and settles his other hand on Jensen’s thigh, his thumb stroking the skin just above where leg meets torso. Jensen’s fully hard, twitchy, and Misha’s hand is heavy and warm, searing the blood in Jensen’s veins. Jensen shifts, restless, and his head falls to the side, an unconscious move that exposes his neck to Misha’s roaming mouth.

Misha takes advantage, sucking at the droplets of water that are still there, rasping his stubble again Jensen’s pinking skin. Jensen lets out a shaky breath when Misha latches onto his pulse, sucking and nipping at it. “Don’t,” he scrapes out, lifting his hand to the back of Misha’s neck, ignoring the soft sound of protest. He clarifies, “Not there, not yet.”

When Misha doesn’t let up, Jensen’s hand clenches the in dark hair and tugs. “I’m going to be shirtless a lot in the next month. You are not marking me like we’re hormone-driven teenagers, Mish.”

Misha gives him one more soft nip, rumbles a soft, "You're no fun" into the shell of Jensen's ear. The hand on Jensen's cock speeds up, just enough to make him arch into it, but still nowhere near enough. His hands grip Misha's thighs, tight and tense, a silent cue that he's aching for more and might do anything to get it.

But Misha is patient. More than that, he's stubborn. Jensen trusts Misha to know what he's doing, to not draw this out longer than necessary, but he can't ignore the ache in his cock, the need for release that's settled low in his stomach and doesn't plan to move any time soon.

Misha slides down a little and stretches out a leg, his toes reaching for the chain of the plug. He tugs enough to dislodge, but doesn't pull it out entirely. Jensen's actually grateful for the loss of the water when the air conditioned air hits his heated skin.

The grip on Jensen's cock tightens incrementally, and Misha's thumb starts swiping over the head, smearing through Jensen's precome and making his job easier. Jensen's close, _so_ close, but Misha's keeping things slow and relaxed. Jensen wants to say something, beg and plead if necessary, except his tongue is heavy and all he can do is pant and whimper. Misha kisses his neck, lips gentle, as Jensen rolls his head from side to side, gasping for air. His skin feels too tight by half, his limbs thick and weighted without the buoyancy of the water. And if Misha doesn't let him come--

Then Misha twists his wrist, his thumb barely hitting the bundle of nerves under the head of Jensen's cock, and everything stops. Jensen's body seizes from head to toe, his lungs, his heart, the very air around him is silent and still, his vision and hearing gone white and suffocating.

It takes long moments for everything to come back, to become aware of a palm flat on his belly, another on his chest, hot puffs of breath into his neck. The room is black, Jensen can't see a thing, and then realizes it's because his eyes are closed, and he doesn't have the energy to open them. He's trembling, both cold and hot at the same time, and can't even out his breathing. He struggles to swallow, which is pointless since his mouth is dry, his throat working against a hard lump. Misha is silent behind him, a warm, reassuring presence with his nose tucked behind Jensen's ear. He's breathing deep and even, as if reminding Jensen how it's done.

Eventually, Jensen's eyes open, slitted even in the dim room, and his body rolls through a shudder, cold from the loss of the water, hot from the blood rushing back. He finds Misha's hands with his own, tangles their fingers together, and turns his face into Misha's neck. The skin there is warm and damp and rough with stubble, and Jensen tucks his forehead in it, yawns. His entire body is spent and he feels like he couldn't even move a toe if he wanted to.

After long, quiet minutes, Misha finally shifts, gently easing himself out from behind Jensen. Sated and limp, Jensen lets himself fall against the tub, eyes hooded and limbs loose. He watches Misha peel off his boxers, his hard cock smearing precome on his stomach, and reach for a towel. Misha's efficient with it, pats himself dry and ties it around his waist before approaching Jensen with the other towel.

It takes Misha's hand under his arm to get Jensen standing and out of the tub, and Misha smirks when Jensen wobbles. He's a little rougher drying Jensen off, but that just wakes him up, makes it easier for Jensen to grab at the knot at Misha's waist and pull him close. Lick into his mouth and kiss him slow and dirty. With a hand on his back, Jensen pulls Misha closer, his cock hot and hard against Jensen's stomach, even through the towel.

Jensen pulls himself away from Misha's mouth, is pleased when he sees the dazed look in Misha's eyes, and asks, "Your turn?"

Misha nods, solemn, and wraps a hand around Jensen's wrist to lead him into the bedroom. He's pulled back, mid-step, when Jensen stops at the foot of the bed. Jensen takes advantage of Misha's imbalance and tugs at his towel, loosening the knot so it can drop to the floor. At the same time, Misha drops onto the bed, pulling Jensen with him so that he's straddling Misha's lap, feet dangling off the edge of the mattress.

They kiss again, thorough but sweet, Misha sucking lightly at Jensen's tongue, Jensen nipping at Misha's kiss-swollen lips. Somehow, in a stunning display of coordination, they manage to back further onto the bed without Jensen having to get up. Far enough so that Jensen can fit between Misha's legs, dragging his lips and teeth over Misha's chest and stomach as he makes his way down.

He swipes a flat tongue over the smudge of precome on Misha's belly but ignores his cock, even when Misha shifts so it'll tap Jensen on the chin. The movement earns Misha a dirty glare through thick lashes and a hard bite at the jut of his hip. Jensen sucks at the skin, traces the indentations of his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

Misha chuckles and Jensen looks up. "I thought you didn't want us looking like horny teenagers?"

"If you're walking around the neighborhood without pants on," Jensen murmurs in between nipping kisses into the groove of Misha's hip, "Then we have bigger things to worry about than people thinking we're horny teenagers."

There's an indignant look on Misha's face when he replies, "Speedo season!"

Jensen snorts and turns his attention to the other hip. "Whatever, Mish."

Despite their bath -- rinsing down, really -- Misha's skin tastes like sweat, salty and dark, and Jensen thinks he could spend hours here, trying to learn the secrets of Misha's hips. How they manage to defy gravity and hold Misha's pants up without a belt. Where to bite to get the hardest shudder. The hollow of them and how Jensen's thumbs fit so perfectly there. He probably should know all this by now, but he tends to get distracted.

Misha squirms again, restless, and Jensen uses a hand on his hip to hold him down, licks a long, careful stripe up the length of his cock. Misha's heels dig into the small of Jensen's back, so he does it again, slower. Wetter. Teases at the slit with the tip of his tongue. He chuckles when he hears Misha hiss a _jesus fuck_ , and skims his hand up Misha's torso, thumbs at his mouth.

"Open up," Jensen orders, sliding his mouth carefully over Misha's cock at the same time he slips three fingers into Misha's mouth. Misha's tongue is thick and wicked, poking in and out between the knuckles, flicking at the webbing. He pulls off when Jensen does, sucks them back in when Jensen does, too.

Jensen pulls off again with a pop. "Yeah," he sighs, voice rough. "Get 'em good and wet." Misha moans, drags his teeth over the pads.

When he's satisfied, Jensen gently pulls his fingers out, drags his thumbnail over Misha all the way down to his groin, over the perineum and along cleft of his ass. Misha arches into it, then melts into the bed when Jensen's mouth sinks onto his cock again, sucking hard and teasing at his hole with the wet pads of his fingers.

Misha stutters a low groan when Jensen starts with two fingers, a gentle but steady push against the reluctant muscle. Jensen pauses when he's past the first knuckles, uses shallow, teasing thrusts to coax Misha into relaxing. Hollows out his cheeks sucking on Misha's cock, gags a little when Misha thrusts into it, and then he's in to the next knuckles.

He bobs his head up and down, letting his mouth get wet and messy so that it mixes with the precome, swirls his thumb in the mess and uses it to ease the drag of his fingers. Despite the dull pain Jensen must be creating, Misha's grinds into the touch and Jensen lets go of his hip to allow him more movement.

The first full thrust has Misha's cock hitting Jensen's throat, gone almost before it's there, but he wants it back, wants to take Misha apart as much as Misha took him apart in the tub. He guides Misha's hand to his head in silent permission, and rewards the scrape of fingernails on his scalp with a slight brush of his fingertips over Misha's prostate. Does it again when it causes Misha to yelp and drive hard into Jensen's slick mouth.

Jensen pulls off with a pop to mouth at Misha's balls, hard, sucking kisses that make wet, obscene sounds. He tongues at Misha's perineum, too. Broad stroke with the flat of his tongue. Moves lower still, soothing stretched skin with soft little swipes.

Jensen can tell Misha's close already, feels it in the throbbing of his cock and the tightening of his balls, and pulls his fingers out so he can add a third. Misha keens at the stretch and his hips stutter, his hand loosening its hold on Jensen's hair. Jensen takes advantage and pulls off until just the head of Misha's cock is in his mouth, lightly sucks on it while thrusting his fingers in and out, first slow, then hard. Keeping Misha off-kilter and surprising him with a long drag straight over his prostate. Jensen grins at Misha's frustrated growl.

Misha gets a hand back on Jensen's head, knots his fingers in the hair and plants his feet flat on the bed to give himself more leverage. His rhythm isn't as smooth as before, his little _ah ah ahs_ pitched a higher, too. Jensen peeks up at him when his mouth sinks down and fingertips brush over the knot of nerves. Misha's skin is red and slick all the way down to his chest, the hollow of his breastbone gleaming in the dim afternoon light, his head thrown back and neck arched, and Jensen backs off a little. Lets Misha get a gulp of air, then a second.

A part of Jensen wants to drag this out. Wants to tease and torment and hold back until Misha's sobbing and begging for release, not unlike Jensen almost was in the bathtub. But Jensen knows that Misha's been hard since then, and didn't do anything for himself while jacking Jensen off. So he wraps a calming hand around Misha's thigh, takes a moment to enjoy how it trembles, and then sinks down.

The head of Misha's cock hits the back of his throat and Jensen swallows, then pulls up and sucks, hollowing out his cheeks. Swipes his tongue around the head as his fingers thrust in and sweep hard over Misha's prostate. The tip of his tongue finds the knot of nerves just under the head of Misha's cocks, flickers against it, and that's it. Misha bucks his hips up once, groaning, "Oh Jesus fuck, _Jensen_ ," and he's coming, hot and thick down Jensen's throat. Jensen has to back off a little, uses a hand to finish Misha off, licking and sucking at him until Misha's limp and sated, nothing more than a dazed, naked mess on the bed.

Jensen rests his head against Misha's thigh to take a moment and catch his breath. Misha is still trembling, a little twitchy, a lot sweaty. When he can get his arms to hold him, Jensen kisses his way up Misha's body, paying special attention to the thumbprint bruise starting to bloom on his hip. Jensen's cock throbs, hard again from Misha writhing underneath and around him, and Misha hisses when it rubs against his spent, oversensitive cock.

"You _would_ be hard again," he murmurs, eyes still closed, and Jensen chuckles as he nips and kisses his way up the slope of Misha's jaw.

"I know you old guys forget what stamina is, bu-- Ow!" Misha pinches Jensen's ass, and doesn't even bother to look apologetic about it. "Keep it up, Collins. I don't _have_ to fuck you."

Misha nestles into the mattress, his hands on Jensen's waist, a smug smile on his face. "I already came, kid. Your threats are worthless." Despite his words, he wraps his legs around Jensen's waist and rolls his hips up.

In reply, Jensen catches Misha's earlobe between his teeth and tugs. "Who said I meant this time?" he breathes into Misha's ear, reaching for the bottle of lube on their nightstand.

Misha finally opens his eyes and catches Jensen's gaze. There's a flicker of a grin, knuckles brushing against Jensen's stubble, and then a hand in his hair, pulling him down. Misha kisses like he does everything: thorough and unhurried, his tongue seeking out all of Jensen's secrets, as if they haven't done this a thousand times before. Misha tastes a little like his beloved fleur de sel caramel ice cream and a lot like mint. Almost like he drank the shampoo he used on Jensen in the bath. Jensen knows it's really the flavor of the gum Misha chewed to try and hide his sneaking the ice cream into the house.

He also knows there'd better be a pint or two of Cinnamon Buns in the freezer, or Misha's _really_ not getting fucked later. Or possibly ever again.

Jensen falls onto his forearm so their sweat-slick bodies rub together and uses the other hand to pop open the lube, clumsily squeezing it over his cock when Misha won't let him break the kiss. Once he's slick, he eases three fingers into Misha one last time , then lines up his cock and slides in on a groan.

Misha's breath hitches. "Jesus, Jen. _Fuck_." he groans, sucking at Jensen's full lower lip. "Warn a guy, would you?" But he thrusts into it, lets Jensen get an arm under a knee so he can get deeper, harder.

Jensen circles his hips as he drives into Misha, finds the angle that hits Misha's prostate and, even though Misha's spent, manages to drag quiet little grunts out of him, anyway. Misha's mouth is open, his breath hot and damp against Jensen's face, and Jensen's drops open, too. His teeth scrape against Misha's cheek, their noses bump together, their moans and whispers collecting between them, secrets shared and kept.

Misha's leg is slippery with sweat, so Jensen hooks the ankle onto his shoulder. Misha brings up the other leg on his own, playfully taps his toes against Jensen's head. "It's a good thing I'm bendy," he jokes in between stuttered gasps.

There's a flash of a grin and Jensen cradles Misha's head in his hands, thumbs tucked behind Misha's ears. His hair is still wet and falls into Misha's eyes, his mouth damp and slack, spilling _jesus_ and _fuck_ and _so_ fucking _tight_ into Misha's.

Misha's fingers burrow into the hair at the nape of Jensen's neck and he pulls, tries to bring Jensen closer, to close the short distance between their mouths. All it does is make him clench tighter around Jensen and the little circles he's been making with his hips fall apart on a hitched groan.

Jensen can feel it at the base of his spine, so brittle it feels like he's about to shatter, and he spreads his knees a little, changes the angle and grins when he gets what he wants: Misha's "Goddamn it, Jen. Not again, not _yet_ " and more tight, slick heat. It doesn't take long after that, with Misha arching into him, a hot, vise-like grip around his cock, and Jensen's coming. Not as intense as before, but he feels just as spent and loose.

Carefully, Misha eases his legs down, first one, and then the other, feet hooking around Jensen's ankles to keep him pinned in place. Not that Jensen plans on moving, his arms and legs weak and wobbly. He shifts along with Misha, both of them trying to resettle until Jensen has eased himself out of Misha, but hasn't moved from the cradle of his hips, his head tucked into the crook of Misha's neck. The space is hot and moist, slick with sweat, but Jensen doesn't much care.

"Do you realize how heavy you are?" Misha grounds out after long, languid minutes of coming down. He pinches Jensen's ass again, and says, "I can barely breathe here."

"Oh yes, and I'm perfectly ok with your collar bone digging into my chest," Jensen snipes back.

"Move, then!"

Jensen snuggles in even closer. "No." His eyelids are getting heavy, his tongue lazy with exhaustion.

Misha sighs. "You realize it's too hot for this."

"Yes."

"Care to move then?"

Jensen's quiet. Then, "Nope."

Misha squirms around a little bit more, and though he really doesn't _want_ to move, he admits to himself that Misha should get to be comfortable, too. So he slides over to Misha's side, carefully avoiding the wet spot, and tangles his legs with Misha's. Once they're both situated and still, Jensen breathes deep, taking in as much of Misha's scent as he can. "Better?"

"Much, thank you." Jensen settles in, his arm thrown over Misha's waist to pull him close. He nuzzles at the thin skin of Misha's temple. "Except I think you just got heavier. How do you _do_ that?!"

"Mmm. Magic."

Misha huffs a laugh, but doesn't say anything more. Jensen waits, patient, until he thinks Misha's asleep and then whispers into his ear. "Misha?"

"What?" He swats at Jensen's face, like he's trying to fend off a fly. Jensen grins.

"Did you get me some ice cream, too?"

Misha growls and one eye opens to glare at Jensen. "Yes, but I'm thinking about returning it. Shut. Up."

He does. Then, quietly, "Thanks, Mish."

Misha rolls toward Jensen, bringing them closer together, slips his arm over Jensen's waist and tucks his head under Jensen's chin. "Yeah, yeah. Now would you go to sleep?"

Jensen kisses him on the bridge of his nose and chuckles.


End file.
